


Perpetual

by Messyfruit



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (yes they go rough), BDSM, Childhood Friends, Childhood fluff, Denial, Fights, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Makeup Kisses, Violence, War, locker room scene, porcoxcolt, porukoru - Freeform, snk, stormy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-12 08:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Messyfruit/pseuds/Messyfruit
Summary: Colt and Porco grow up together and find comfort in each other's company when their friends leave for war. When they catch feelings for each other, they get caught in a perpetual whirlwind of feelings, denial, anger, and makeup-kisses. Colt has to face off against the duties that bind him, while Porco fights as much for Marely as he fights to understand his place in his friend (maybe boyfriend?)'s life.A chronicle of Porco and Colt's love story through the years - every other chapter told from Porco and Colt's POV. Written to fit seamlessly between their canon interactions in them manga (and to give delicious, shippy context to those moments).





	1. Birthday boy (Colt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colt is finally old enough to join in the Marleyan warrior program. Will the other cadets be nice to him? What if he asks a stupid question? Oh, he hopes he'll make a friend so he finally has someone to fly kites with in the afternoons... 
> 
> Oh, by the way: it's his birthday today!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The number at the beginning of the chapters indicates what year the chapter is set. For reference: Shinganshina fell in year 845.**

**839**

Today was the big day; the day that little Colt had been waiting so impatiently for. Inspecting his new pressed shirt and shorts in the hallway mirror for imperfections, he rubbed his uneasy tummy from the mix of nerves and energy that simmered in there like something alive. He’d tried to stay awake till past midnight last night, just to see the countdown through – and he had soldiered on till almost eleven o’clock before his eyelids finally gave up on him – but as his mother kneeled down to tie his running shoes for him this special morning, and he struggled to suppress a yawn, he reckoned it was a good thing he’d gotten the amount of rest that he had. After all, this wasn’t just another ordinary birthday, no; this was his fifth one. He was big now. So big was he, in fact, that the Marleyans had finally called him in to join the warrior program – that fabled military program that he had been told so much about, ever since he could remember. The program he was going to join, to regain his family’s honor. He was big now. It was time to do what he was born to do. From this day forward, he was a warrior cadet. From this day forward, he would be his mother and father’s perfect pride and joy. 

Stepping outside felt like stepping into a mystery: the otherwise so crowded streets of the Liberio internment zone, were now as desolate as the night, with just the crack of dawn reflecting off the taller-most chimneys. Colt had never been awake this early before, he was pretty sure; only a few early birds chirped from the rooftops, and somehow he could still see stars up there, despite the mild blue in the sky. Below, the careful footsteps of the three of them gave off echoes along the cobblestone as they made their way through the morning mist without a word. Gingerly, Colt tried to pull his hand back to adjust his open coat, but he felt his mother’s grip tighten around his hand as they approached the guard by the outer gate. This was it. He squeezed her hand a little and struggled to swallow.  
“Mommy…”  
“Shh.”  
His mother’s other hand held three slips of paper to her chest like they were sacred. She looked at them as she shushed her son.  
The guard stirred.  
“Your exit permits, ma’am.” The force in his voice surprised Colt; the man sounded a lot more awake than what his drawn face had let on; his hat lay his features in shadows, and the dark circles under his eyes reminded Colt of the beggars his mother would spit after, every time she took him grocery shopping. The way those scrawny figures would grope after their shoes as they shuffled past their tin cans, always made Colt’s stomach twist – but mother would just tell him to pretend they weren’t there.  
Indeed, the guard’s sunken eyes reminded Colt of those tired beggars – but his voice was sharp and alert, calling on authority, and for some reason that made Colt’s stomach twist up a lot tighter than those weak grabby hands ever had. 

The man inspected their slips, and for a moment it sounded as though he was growling under his breath as he was reading – but then Colt remembered what it was, and he closed his eyes hard. Focusing on what his mother had taught him, Colt pretended the guard dog wasn’t there. The one they kept chained up next to the patrol booth. It always snarled at him when he got too close. And it was snarling now. But this time, the guard shushed it.  
“…I see. The program. Be on your merry way, then.” He handed Colt’s mother her slips back with none of the care that she first had handed them to him with, then the gate slowly opened at his signal. Colt’s heart gave a small jump and he opened his eyes.  
“Stay close now,” his mother whispered. “And don’t let go of my hand, you hear?” 

This was the first time Colt would see what lay beyond the barbwire gate; past the zone he called his home. His parents had drilled him thoroughly for weeks: “yes, ma’am – no, ma’am – I beg your pardon, sir – the warrior program, sir. Yes, sir, I have a permit, sir.” These people wouldn’t be just your ordinary fellow men; these were special creatures. A different people. A better people – and they should be treated as such. Rule number one: don’t speak unless spoken to. Rule number two: keep your head down and don’t make eye contact. Rule number three: keep your permit and your Eldian armband with you at all times. Rule number four: do your best at training and never complain. Do you understand?  
Colt understood. After all, he was big now; a stupid kid no more – not since this morning. He was five now, and not scared of snarling dogs or grumpy guards anymore. 

The dog kept growling as they stepped through the gate, Colt’s father first – map in hands – with wife and son close behind. Colt kept his eyes stiffly on his father’s heels for guidance, and his hand in his mother’s hand for safety. Yet, as the familiar walls disappeared from his peripherals, he braved a glance up, and took in his first proper view of the Marleyan streets before them… and felt his heart settle. Truth be told? They didn’t look that much different from the Eldian streets; the houses were the same shapes, the advertisement stands were the same colors – even the stone under their feet looked and sounded the same. Oh, but the smell was different, though. That, and the horse carriages. Colt could count on one hand the times he’d seen coaches like these before, yet here, the main strip was lined with them like they were parading. There were at least one, two, three, four, five, six! Six coaches, painted and carved like they carried royals! Colt wondered how it didn’t smell foully; horses pooped all the time – yet the Marleyan streets looked void of dung. He could even smell the flowers in front of the shop windows. Imagine that; not a single outdoor booth. Was it too early, or were all the Marleyan shopkeepers rich enough to have their own indoor shops – as well as coaches – and not to mention sweepers?  
“Colt!” His mother yanked his arm. “Mind your step! Remember the rules, alright?”  
He looked down and felt his heart sink as he saw a small heap of spilled soil he had been about to step into, had his mother not steered him away.  
“You weren’t honestly planning on presenting yourself for duty with your shoes all dirtied, were you?” his mother scolded low, her teeth not parting. She bowed her head as a lone man carrying a stack of newspapers passed them by.  
“I’m sorry, mommy.”  
“I thought you wanted the other children to like you. They won’t get a chance to, if the Marleyans send you right back, you know.”  
Colt hung his head and kept his eyes on his father’s heels. “I know, mommy.”  
They fell silent as they passed by a bakery; Colt didn’t look up again, but he could tell from the smell of fresh bread that the baker must have just finished his first morning batch. The scent made his mouth water. Were Eldians allowed to buy goods from these shops? He thought to himself that he should definitely remember to ask mommy or daddy later. Or maybe, if he was lucky, the other warrior cadets would talk to him and tell him all about this place.  
“Remember: if you do well today, we can celebrate with cake afterwards. You want cake, don’t you?”  
Colt nodded and smiled carefully down at his own feet; he hoped they’d put candles on it for him to blow out, too.

After some time, and just as Colt had gotten dangerously close to asking if they were there yet, Colt’s father eventually broke the silence: “not much farther now,” he said, lowering his map to look up. He had lead them down a path off the main street, and was finally slowing to a halt.  
“There. There it is, Colt, ” he said – and pointed. The military base rested at the bottom of a steep hill, close to the docks. Lifting his head, and with some elation, Colt recognized the outdoor area as a running track. He knew those! His father would take him to their local track back at the internment zone every day to practice his abilities – although, that little square of dirt-track land could in no way hold a candle to what lay before them now: the track had five lanes and ran around the entirety of the base, the road as even as the horizon – as opposed to the wobbly, rocky path at home. Colt followed the track with his eyes and imagined it would take him ten minutes just to run a single lap. He was giddy to try it out.  
The base itself looked like it might be broader than ten indoor shops combined, probably more. He’d never seen a bigger place in his life. The area was fenced in, but he could see another two buildings in there, and some walls with rocks and ropes. And what were those…? Scarecrows? Colt looked long at the place below them. Hopefully someone would tell him what all those things were, so he didn’t have to be a stupid kid and ask.  
“I’d say! You’ll definitely be able to blossom into a strong, brave warrior here, Colt. Hm? What do you think?” His mother nudged his shoulder and combed his hair with her fingers. “Where did it say to meet, honey?”  
His father looked at his papers again. “North side entrance. Let’s go.” He took Colt’s other hand and lead them down the hill, head raised. 

As they approached the outer fence, voices started rising from behind the main building. Young voices, laughter. Competitive shouting. Colt could feel his stomach begin to twist and sting strangely, and it made him hold his parents’ hands tighter as they came upon the tall gate. Would the other cadets be nice to him? What if they didn’t like him? What if they thought he was just a stupid kid?  
After the guards checked their papers and let them through, the Grice’s were ordered to stay put by the entrance. Soon enough, a serious man in uniform approached them.  
“Good morning,” he said. His tone was sharp, short and certain. “You’re the Grice family, I expect.”  
He was tall – even taller than father, Colt thought.  
“My name is Theo Magath. I’m chief overseer for the Eldian warrior program.”  
He nodded stiffly when the two adults bowed their heads before him. Then his expression softened, his jaw unclenched, and he knelt down in front of Colt, hand outstretched. “Nice meeting you, Colt. I’m the one who’s going to make sure you get the training you need. If you have any questions, you have my permission to ask.”  
Colt shifted on his feet and gazed up at his mother and father, his little heart beating loudly against his ribs. When his mother let go of his hand, swatted it and gave him an insistent look, he lowered his eyes to face the military man, and took his hand timidly, making sure to look at his buttons so not to make eye contact.  
“Come now, you don’t need your mother’s permission for everything, do you? I’m the one in charge now,” Magath said and Colt flushed. “I’m Magath, but you should call me Sir.”  
“I’m Colt… I’m five so I’m in the warrior program now.” His voice barely carried the distance; the knot in his stomach was making it hard to speak. “Um, I have a… a permit, sir.”  
The man laughed and shook his hand, then ruffled his hair and stood up. “Very good. I would hope so. Otherwise, you’ll have a hard time getting to and from base every day.” He motioned for them to follow him and turned on his heels. As soon as his back was to them, Colt grabbed his mother’s hand again. His tummy ached. What if he didn’t understand the orders he was given? Or what if he asked a stupid question?  
“You’re big now,” his mother whispered, and shook her hand free from his grip. “Act like it.” 

Colt’s jacket started feeling all too warm for him as Sir Magath was leading them towards a closed door; the laughter rising from the other side of the building was growing louder the closer they got. There had been no sign of the other kids yet, but by the sound of it, Colt’s comrades-to-be were rounding the corner any moment now, and Colt – trying as he may to avoid it – couldn’t peel is eyes off the edge of the building. He wiped his palms nervously on his shorts and took deep breaths, bracing himself. What would they look like? Were they his age? Would they be nice? Would any of them want to be his friend? He hoped at least one of them would want to fly kites with him in the afternoons – he’d asked for a new kite for his birthday, and if the present waiting at home for him was indeed a shiny red dragon, he’d sorely miss a friend to pilot it.  
“You’ll meet with a colleague of mine down to the left there,” Magath said above his head. Hinges creaked. “He’ll have some papers for you to sign before you leave. Colt comes with me.”  
A foot shot out from behind the corner first, and Colt’s heart jumped. Then someone jolted into view, cackling, looking over their shoulder – two others right on his tail. Colt held his breath and felt his heart hammer along to their impressive sprint. The boy in the lead was a strawberry brunette – almost red haired – with scraped knees and a smug grin on his face. He took no notice of Colt; he was too busy sticking his tongue out at the competition. The boy and girl coming up behind him were both dark haired and red faced.  
“You cheated, Porco, it doesn’t count,” the girl squealed, catching up with him and giving him a playful push. The boy – Porco – did a skid-turn and used his momentum to push her several steps backwards in response. “As if! You’re just jealous I’m better than you! Hahaha!”  
They stuck their tongues out at each other, forgoing the race in favor of a grimace stand-off.  
“Let him win, Pieck,” the third kid called, catching up with them. He put a hand on Porco’s shoulder and laughed breathlessly. “You know he never wins when we do it fair.”  
Porco raised a fist in reply and the taller boy put his hands up in surrender, chuckling.  
“You’re a big fat liar, Marcel!”  
“Am not!”  
“Are too!”  
“Warriors, that’s enough!”  
Magath barked from above Colt’s head, startling him so much he visibly jumped.  
“Galliard!”  
Both the boys straightened their backs and raised their hands to their foreheads, smiles completely wiped off their faces. They both seemed to stare very seriously at something in the air in front of them, and Colt thought they looked very strange indeed. He grabbed onto his father’s leg, and observed them with a mix of excitement and confusion. What were they looking at?  
“Can either of you tell me what time it is,” Magath barked again. Colt didn’t dare to look up at him, but he was guessing that the man probably looked very angry.  
The taller of the two boys piped up first “Sir, it’s four minutes past seven, sir!”  
“Indeed it is.” The officer folded his arms behind his back and started walking slowly towards them. The door he’d been holding, clinked shut. “What is supposed to happen at seven?”  
“We move on to sparring, sir!” It was Porco who replied this time. His brows furrowed as he delivered his words loudly, mimicking an officer’s bark.  
“Indeed you do,” Magath said. He was pacing back and forth in front of the three children now. “So tell me. Why are you not at the arena?”  
“Sir, we–“  
“Why–“ Magath cut Marcel off by raising his voice. He stopped in front of him, blocking him from Colt’s view, and continued, voice now unnervingly calm. “–… is it that my three top cadets, have simultaneously lost their ability to tell the time?”  
Pieck squeaked: “sir, Porco wanted a rematch, and–“  
Porco gasped, head snapping in her direction, a furious expression in his eyes.  
“Why is it–…“ Magath barked over their heads, unmoving. Porco regained his composure, facing forward quickly – though he kept shooting daggers at Pieck from the corner of his eyes.  
“–… that despite the military’s investment in a clock tower, precisely for the purpose of its cadets being on time,… you three are still running around like oversized rats, causing a ruckus outside of your superior officers’ offices, four minutes after mandatory muster roll?”  
All three of them were silent now. The man continued: “could it be that you want to be kicked out of the program? Perhaps you don’t want to serve Marely after all? Are you traitors?”  
Colt could feel the tension from where he stood. Protected behind his father’s pant leg, he felt deeply thankful that he himself was only watching this reprimand from afar – even so, he could feel his palms become sweaty on the cadets’ behalf.  
Magath started pacing again, and as Porco disappeared and came back into view, he met Colt’s eyes. The suddenness and intensity of the boy’s stare made Colt’s heart skip a beat; he couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he had an urgent feeling of being called upon somehow. To what? To help him? He didn’t know how to do that.  
Porco didn’t break eye contact; only periodically disappeared from view behind Magath’s brooding form – then would reappear a moment later, still staring. Timidly, Colt raised a hand and waved. Porco didn’t stir, just kept staring, one hand against his forehead and the other stiffly at his side. Considering for a moment, Colt moved his own hand against his forehead, copying Porco, and smiled hopefully. Porco was still unmoving, but Colt could see a small dip between his eyebrows start to form, like the boy was fighting against something.  
“What are you doing,” his mother hissed suddenly, her hand coming down to swat his hand from his face. That finally broke their stare, and to Colt’s disappointment, Porco’s eyes darted away, expression once again blank and his gaze once again fixated on something invisible.  
“Don’t interrupt them.”  
Colt was about to apologize when Magath barked again: “Well?!”  
The three cadets at the man’s mercy exchanged some side eye glances, then Marcel took a step forward: “it’s my fault, sir.”  
Porco turned his head slightly, staring blankly at his brother’s back, though his jaw visibly clenched.  
“I beat Porco’s personal record and when he asked for a rematch I said yes, even though I knew there wouldn’t be enough time, sir. I’m the oldest so I should have been the responsible one… I also talked Pieck into joining the sprint. I apologize, sir.”  
Magath stopped to look him over. All Colt could see now was the man’s tense back as he loomed over Marcel, but he imagined a face twisted in anger, and a boy struggling to keep his calm in the face of fear. Everyone seemed to hold their breaths.  
After a drawn out moment, Magath spoke: “…You two.”  
Porco and Pieck lifted their heads more to signal listening.  
“Get your asses to the arena, stat. Porco stays here.”  
All the color in the younger Galliard’s face drained. “What?!” He pointed at Marcel. “But he–“  
“– is late.”  
“But he’s the one who–“  
“– who will be punished later. Right now, I have an assignment for you, Galliard.”  
Porco’s hand fell. His eyes darted between the three – he even looked at Colt for a moment – seemingly seeking to understand.  
“Run along, kids.” Magath put his hands on Pieck and Marcel’s heads and gave them both a push. Porco looked after them with his mouth half agape as they ran.  
“With me,” the officer commanded, turning and heading back towards Colt. Porco followed a few steps behind him, looking reluctant.  
“Galliard, this is the Grice family.” Magath stopped in front of them and Porco did the same, facing Colt by a few feet. He locked eyes with Colt, and Colt’s heart jumped again.  
“That’s Colt. He’s joining the program today. Once I’ve filled him in on the basics, it’ll be your job to show him around.”  
Colt gave an unsure smile, feeling his tummy tickle with anticipation. Their eye contact didn’t waver as he extended his hand. “Hi. It’s my birthday today!”  
Porco stepped forward and took his hand. “… You’re weird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much or reading! There's a lot in store for these two so I hope you'll tune in for the coming chapters!**
> 
>  
> 
> **About age:**  
>  Since their accurate ages are not yet public knowledge, I've made up my own mind on this for the sake of the fic: Porco is born in 833 (Nov 11th), while Colt is born in 834 (Aug 12th), making Porco 9 months older than Colt - that is why he was already drafted once Colt joined the program (which accepted kids 5-7). Reiner is born in 833 (Aug 1st - canon), making his rivalry with Porco make some additional sense. Marcel is one year older than Porco, making him the oldest and thus the natural "big brother" of the BRA trio (as depicted in canon).  
> Falco is born Feb 10th, and I've settled on the year of 842, making Colt 7 and a half years older than his little brother.


	2. Mint (Porco)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does everyone always have to gang up on Porco? Why do they have to call him mean and make him feel all alone all the time? And why does Colt have to have strategy classes when the rest of them have sparring?! Why can't Colt be there to prove everyone wrong when they turn on him?! _I have friends!_
> 
> That's right: even if Colt is a little weird, he's Porco's best friend! Unlike everyone else, Colt doesn't mind Porco's temper. He trusts him, and that makes Porco feel very important.
> 
> ... And that's why he's is going to get him that Marleyan ice cream he wants!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The number at the beginning of the chapters indicates what year the chapter is set. For reference: Shinganshina fell in year 845.**

**841**

Finally, afternoon! The bell tower struck a single chime to signal half past five on a rainy Saturday evening, and soon the warrior cadets began filing out of headquarters after a particularly tense last class. Porco, stomping down the hall, bore a dark, displeased frown that told everyone to stay away. But did they? No.  
Porco could feel the temperature in his face rise as rapidly as his temper: he was going to punch Reiner in his ugly mouth in ten seconds if he didn’t shut his stupid face up. Forget about tomorrow’s off duty freedom – he just wanted some god damn peace!  
“… So it doesn’t really matter about the scores, in the end. Because I’m older anyways,” Reiner, the idiot, was sputtering, looking stupider by the second.  
Porco had to close his eyes just to block out the sight. His brain was simmering. _One_ , he thought, his teeth clenched. “Only. By. Three. Months.”  
Reiner paused, knowing by now what it meant when Porco Galliard began growling. But he seemed too emboldened by his own logic – or his stupidity, Porco thought – to back down, and Porco heard him inhale to continue: “exactly! You still won’t be eight for another two months! You’re seven and I’m eight.” He was matching Porco’s steps all the way to the exit. For being a pipsqueak, he had guts.  
_Two… three…_  
“It. Doesn’t. Matter.” Porco hoisted his gym bag to reposition its strap over his shoulder, and he felt his palms itch to curl into fists. He wanted to punch that delusional idiot so bad. The smell of wet sand mingled with the stench of gym socks as they exited the building and he felt the annoyance boil hot in his head. The rain coming down on them didn’t help. Today’s program was over, he just wanted to go home and do something boring like fly kites with weird, boring Colt. Not have stupid Reiner breathing down his neck about the new combat scores. He was better than Reiner and Reiner just had to deal with it – or get a black eye and go whine to his stupid mommy about it.  
“It does _so_ matter! It’s more important that the one they pick is mature, than that they’re the best at combat and stuff!” _Ugh._ He tried to think of what Colt had taught him, to close his eyes and pretend the stupid thing wasn’t there. But it didn’t work. The stupid thing was _right there_. Still talking.  
_Four… five…_ Like, who was Reiner even trying to fool? Certainly not Porco! Well, unless he was failing miserably at yet another thing! He must be trying to convince himself that he wasn’t as useless as he was!  
“They’ll pick–“  
“They’ll pick the one who’s best for the mission, you stupid idiot!” Porco couldn’t resists opening his eyes now, fists clenching white over his bag strap. What-an-idiot! Reiner was just the absolute worst! Could he never let Porco have his wins in peace?!  
_Six…_  
“I’m better than you, Reiner! I’m going to get picked so just deal with it already! Shut up and stop following me!”  
Reiner gave an awkward, shrill laugh. “I’m not following you, I’m going home, too. And I’m more loyal to Marley than you, so I guess we’ll just have to wait and see!”  
“No, we won’t!” Porco did a skid turn and headed for the northern gate. “We already know! It’s going to be me! Bye!”  
“Where are you going? Picking Colt over the rest of us again?”  
Porco didn’t answer, just began walking across the training grounds, chewing on the inside of his cheek in anger. He forced himself to think about Colt’s stupid trick some more. _Reiner isn’t there_.  
“… Colt’s strategy class ended half an hour ago. Do you really think he’d wanna wait that long when it’s _raining_? For _you_?”  
_Seven-eight-nine-ten!_  
Porco dropped his bag, did a one-eighty and charged for Reiner with a roar and two fists in the air.  
The idiot recoiled, everything but submission left in his eyes in an instant. He raised his arms too late, and Porco’s punches landed as hard, merciless thuds against his head and across his jaw.  
“Stop,” Reiner cried out, stepping backwards until his foot caught and tripped him. Porco was on top of him in a second, panting with rage, not hearing – or not minding – the surrendering pleas. He had given him plenty of chances! That stupid, weak, charity case! Reiner didn’t belong here, all his friends were just playing nice with him, and still he had the audacity to insinuate that Porco wouldn’t have anyone waiting for him!? He had friends!!  
“Colt! Always! Waits! For! Me!” He hammered it into his stupid face and then let his fist hover over his head, trembling.  
That’s when someone grabbed Porco’s hand from behind and with forceful certainty, pulled him off the weeping boy. “Stop! Remember what mom told you about fighting?!”  
_Marcel_.  
His older brother was dragging him backwards over the sand, away from Reiner. Porco felt his temples begin to pulsate with white hot indignance.  
“No! Let me go!” He wiggled in his older brother’s grasp like a furious worm. Wet sand was scraping up his back and his vision began swimming. “He was being a jerk!”  
“And so were you,” Marcel retorted. Never the less, with a sigh, he abided his little brother’s wishes and let him go. Porco scramble to his feet and started dusting his shirt off with fiery vigor.  
“You can’t just punch people whenever they make you angry, Porco…”  
Porco was biting down on his tongue in an effort not to blow up again. “If Reiner hadn’t been such a sore loser, none of this would have happened!”  
Marcel turned to help Reiner on his feet before Porco was finished talking. “But you can’t punch people for being sore losers,” he sighed. He helped dust Reiner’s shirt off before looking back at his brother.  
“He said Colt wouldn’t wait for me!”  
“But you know he always does, though…”  
“Yeah but that doesn’t ma–“  
“Reiner!” Bertolt came running towards them, concern plastered on his face. Porco watched him bitterly as he came up and grabbed Reiner by his shoulders, examining him without even catching his breath. Entirely overreacting, in Porco’s opinion.  
“Are you alright? What did Porco do?”  
Porco threw his hands up. “Oh, come on! We have combat five times a week, don’t act like it’s such a big deal,” he barked at him and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. He began inching backwards. They were ganging up on him again, weren’t they? Why was he always the bad guy, huh?! What about Reiner constantly hounding him?! What about what he said about Colt not wanting to wait for him?!  
Marcel looked at him. There was a frown on his face that Porco couldn’t read. “Mom’s gonna be really upset when she hears that you fought again. You promised her…”  
“You don’t even care about my side of this, do you?!”  
“Yes, I d–“  
“That’s not the point,” Bertolt squeaked. His voice carried uncharacteristically strong. He was stroking Reiner’s back for comfort, while he kept his eyes on Porco. He looked suddenly more grown up for his age, not just because of his height.  
_But you’re younger than me_ , Porco thought, begrudgingly – like it gave him the higher ground. But being scolded stung all the same – even if it was by someone who’d only turn seven this December. He felt his nose prickle and he bit down on his tongue, refusing to allow what he feared was brewing tears.  
“You always do this! You always get angry and just punch everyone! You can’t do that, Porco!”  
Pieck – umbrella in hand – was bringing up the rear with Annie as Bertolt berated him.  
_You’re supposed to be my friends_ , Porco thought, as his eyes passed over the little crowd that had accumulated in front of him. He became painfully aware of how everyone was facing his way. Even Pieck looked exasperated at the situation – even though she didn’t know the whole story, Porco thought bitterly.  
Annie looked generally unimpressed. “What’d he do this time,” she asked, eyes moving over Porco. This was getting to be too much. They were ganging up on him again!  
“He punched me. You didn’t have to punch so hard, Porco,” Reiner lamented, leaning against Bertolt, his tears mixing in with a thin nosebleed. A few of the others nodded in agreement. They were all huddling together under Pieck’s umbrella.  
“Now, let’s hang on a second,” Marcel began, probably seeing the tears that finally begun to well in his little brother’s eyes.  
Porco felt his head pound as he looked at him, wiping his eyes aggressively. Despite his efforts, he knew everyone could see he was crying now.  
Marcel stepped forward into the light, late summer rain. “I think we should–“  
But before he could continue, Porco shook his head no. He took a wide step backwards and felt a puddle begin to seep into his right shoe. He gave a loud, quivering roar, grabbed his bag off the ground with both hands and turned to run. “I hate you!”  
Nobody followed him as he stormed off to the northern gate. 

Rounding the building from the west side to the north, would take Porco approximately fifteen minutes that evening. He hadn’t felt ready to face anyone before his eyes were dry, and the fear of further embarrassment had driven him to stop behind a sheltered length of wall, out of sight from either gate, to cry it out alone. The rain had been letting up, but the damp air thankfully helped to muffle his frustrated yells as he kicked his gym bag around. He hated being made out to be the bad guy all the time. He hated it so much! And it cut him even deeper when Marcel would take the others’ side in the name of peace and order, instead of defending him like a big brother should! Ok, so maybe Marcel would help him out most of the time, but he should be on Porco’s side, not somewhere in the middle! Damn it! And how dare Reiner say Colt wouldn’t wait for him?! That was a stupid, stupid lie and Reiner knew it!  
“Aaaarg!!” His gym bag was wet and dirty when he gave it the finishing blow, most of his anger-fueled adrenaline finally gone. It hit the wall with a soft thud and lay there limply. Looking at it, feeling deflated and defeated, Porco slowly became aware of how quiet the grounds were now that sessions were out and the place was empty save for superiors stuck in their offices. He assumed the others had gone home now… He inhaled deeply, then let the air run out of his lungs a trickle at a time, deflating further.  
_Fine. Whatever._  
He wiped his face and tossed the bag over his shoulder to leave. With two hands on the strap, he approached the northern gate – where Colt no doubt would be waiting for him. He always did, whether Porco showed up or not. Porco knew, because Colt had told him so.  
It had started as an arrangement between their parents, back when Colt was still new – two years ago now; Porco’s mother had volunteered him to be Colt’s guide home, after Colt’s parents had decided they wouldn’t come pick him up any more. Porco had begrudgingly complied; he’d been embarrassed to be seen with Colt at first; he thought he was weird. Nobody at the program particularly minded Colt, but due to him only sharing half their classes, he never really solidified himself as part of the group either. And when he was there, all he seemed to want to talk about was his kites; he seemed oblivious to the fact that nobody shared his enthusiasm for the hobby. Other than that, he rarely spoke his mind at all; he’d agree with whomever he was talking to – or not say anything at all, and just tag along wherever Porco went. Porco heard someone calling him clingy behind his back once, and it had made him furious: why couldn’t Colt just be more confident and have a will of his own? He knew he had one!  
Sure, Porco had shared the others’ sentiment in the beginning. But that had changed as soon as he and Colt had begun walking together: to his surprise, the shy, weird newcomer had quickly come out of his shell, and revealed an array of interesting colors to him; he’d laughed and joked, and talked to his heart’s content – whereas before, he’d been too timid to look anyone in the eyes. Colt had seemed to really trust Porco, and Porco had started to feel really good about that; it made him feel important. And to think he’d found a friend who didn’t mind his temper! Strange, shy Colt, had quickly become the most loyal friend he had. The _only_ friend he had, it sometimes felt like.  
… But he was so _weird_. And Porco already struggled to find his own spot in the group – so, afraid he’d be seen as weird for enjoying Colt’s company, Porco put a lot of effort into keeping their arrangement hidden. For a long time. And a few months in, the stress of it all, culminated in Porco yelling at Colt in front of everybody during a shared sparring class. That evening, he’d been too ashamed to show up by the northern gate to accompany Colt home, and for the longest time thereafter, he’d walk home with Marcel and the rest of the class instead. He’d felt plenty nauseous about it, but that’s what happened: he stopped showing up.  
Eventually, of course, he began to miss his walks with Colt, though. Like a _lot_ miss them. Of course he did; walking with the group just couldn’t compare to the joy of feeling appreciated by one truly devoted friend. Porco began thinking that maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to be a weirdo after all – if it meant choosing what truly made you happy… But by then, it had been several weeks since he first abandoned his agreement with Colt, and since Colt never said anything, he assumed he’d just started walking home by himself by now; his classes ended half an hour before everyone else’s after all…  
Yet, on a whim, just in case, Porco went to the northern gate after classes one day… and seeing Colt there to greet him with that same, genuine smile of his, weeks after he’d first stopped showing, had felt like a weight off his shoulders.  
That’s the day Porco learned that Colt never really stopped waiting for him. Colt had told him he’d been waiting outside the gate every single day since they first started walking together, just in case. If Porco didn’t show up by six – when the bell struck six times – Colt would know he’d went home without him, and go home too. But he didn’t mind waiting an extra hour every day, though! He’d been quick to assure him of that; because he’d just spend the time drawing in the sand or thinking about stuff – and if Porco showed, it would be a happy bonus! He’d said he didn’t mind it if Porco would rather go home with the others, either. He’d seen him leave with them on occasion, but he didn’t mind.  
That was the day Porco had realized Colt was his best friend. Even if he was a little weird. Either way, naturally, from that day forward – probably a year ago now – Porco stopped hiding the fact that he preferred walking home with Colt. The others knew, and sometimes that embarrassed him – but being true to what he wanted, was the better option by a long shot. Sure, he’d still walk home with the group sometimes; Colt’s clinginess could get on his nerves now and then – but nine times out of ten, he’d opt to go meet Colt by the other gate. And see that stupid smile of his.  
Heh… He’d tried to tell him he didn’t have to wait every day – because “sometimes, maybe I feel like walking with Marcel or something” – but Colt had just shrugged and said it was ok – then he’d wait by the gate anyways, just in case.  
_He’s like a damn puppy_ , Porco thought, shaking his head to himself.  
As he rounded the corner, he lifted his gaze, and – sure enough – saw his friend light up on the other side of the chain link fence like always. They locked eyes and Porco fought against an involuntary smile. A secret warmth began to spread in his chest at the sight of someone so happy to see him. For a moment, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be angry. But only almost; the guards stirred at the gate and he put his head down quickly. He gave his cheeks another brush in case of stubborn tear trails, then approached, gave each of the armed men a hasty nod, and stood watching the gate pull open for him. The guards said nothing, just stared blankly at the empty space ahead of them.  
Colt had come up behind the steel gate while it was still moving, and stood smiling directly at Porco as he came into view. The beaming boy was clearly soaked from the rain, but he didn’t seem to know, by the way he joyously bounced on his heels.  
_A damn puppy_ , Porco agreed, feeling color spread across his cheeks. He looked at Colt’s rain soaked clothes and felt a pang of bad conscience. Sometimes he wished Colt would be less cheery; it was sweet, but it just stung all that much deeper to let him down. Besides, right now, Porco wasn’t in the mood – especially not right after what happened with the others. He couldn’t forget that yet, even if he wanted to. Knowing Colt would just try to lighten the mood if he told him what happened, instead of lamenting the others’ rudeness with him, put a damper on the relief he’d instantly felt at seeing him. So Porco frowned, and crossed his arms over his chest – like he was masking the warmth he felt there. He stepped through the gate, up to his waiting friend, and made an effort to look miserable.  
“What are you so damn happy about?”  
“Wanna fly kites today? Mommy said it would be windy around seven and I repaired the red one like I promised!”  
“You know flying kites is really boring, right?”  
Colt’s face fell a little, but he quickly shrugged it off and smiled. “Something else then?”  
Porco stared at him, examining his face. He wondered, like he often did, why Colt didn’t react when he was being nasty to him. Why was he always so damn carefree?  
“Um… Your bag is really dirty. Did you drop it in a puddle or something?” Instantly, Porco’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach, and his shoulders tensed. He made a face and turned to walk, arms a little tighter across his chest now. His clothes felt clammy and warm in the humid afternoon air.  
“Oh! Um…” Colt bounced and fell into step next to him, obviously confused – but he didn’t question him further.  
Neither of them spoke as they made their way up the hill, heading for the main street. Porco was biting down on what had happened, and Colt didn’t want to provoke him. After some time of silence – save for their footsteps over the gravel – Colt spoke carefully – as it became apparent that Porco wouldn’t: “hey, um, did you see that new ice cream flavor at Henrietta’s Parlor? Mint… I don’t know what that means, but it sounds delicious! Right?” His step got a little skip to it, and he smiled at the thought.  
“…Not really.”  
“I haven’t been inside yet, because of what mommy said, but it looks so pretty through the window. Have you been?”  
“No.”  
“Maybe if w–“  
“You don’t want mint.”  
“…Huh?” Colt gave a small confused giggle.  
“The stupid ice cream. You don’t want mint!”  
“…Yes, I do?”  
“Mint is that leaf thing your parents put in your tooth paste to make it taste less bitter.”  
Porco glanced sideways to see Colt looking at him blankly – no recognition in his eyes. Porco raised his eyebrows impatiently. “Well?!” He shook his head. “Do you really want an ice cream that tastes like tooth paste?”  
“Um. I don’t think mommy and daddy have those leaves… Anyways, I think Mint sounds good. At least it looks really delicious. It’s like green or blue, kinda both.” He gave another little giggle. “Have you ever seen that colored ice cream before?”  
_He’s too damn cheery_. Porco grit his teeth. His soaked shoe was starting to really get on his nerves all of a sudden.  
“Do you think we’ll ever get that flavor in the internment zone?”  
Porco closed his eyes. His head was beginning to hurt again. He couldn’t make room in there for ice cream; all he saw was Marcel’s disappointed face, Bertolt’s accusatory frown, Pieck’s indifference and Annie’s annoyance.  
Colt sighed contently and looked at the houses at the top of the hill. “I wish the parlor would serve Eldians too, you know? Not just Marleyans? Then I’d buy one of everything!”  
Porco felt something pop in his head and his eyes flew open. “Yeah?! Well, I wish you’d have the same classes as the rest of us, but we can’t always have what we want, can we!” He halted at the top of the hill where gravel met cobblestone, and turned to his friend, eyes glaring. The elevated stone, and the steepness of the hill, made him tower over him. Colt looked taken aback, and for a moment, Porco felt like punching him. He wanted to punish Colt for leaving him alone with all the other idiots all the time. The idiots who didn’t just shrug off his temper, like Colt did. People always ganged up on Porco, told him he was rude. They made him feel all alone, and Colt wasn’t there to prove them wrong! Why did Colt have to go have special strategy sessions with Zeke six times a week, while the rest of them had double sparring or whatever? Why couldn’t Colt be there to come running over, to check on him and tell the others off when they tried to make him into the bad guy?!  
He kept his glare on Colt while Colt seemed to be groping for words. Porco searched his eyes for hurt – or maybe anger. There had to be a line, right? Even for Colt? A line he would inevitably cross and then they wouldn’t be friends anymore? Everyone else hated him – so why wouldn’t Colt? It was only a matter of time, so couldn’t he just get on with it already?!  
“Your kites are stupid! You’re boring!” He felt his nose turn red as he barked. “You’re childish and weird and nobody likes you!” For every word uttered, he saw Colt shrink a little more, and the pain rose like bile in Porco’s own throat as he yelled. The warmth in his chest burned hotter now, but not in a good way; it stung him, blistered his insides. He saw his friend begin to fold in on himself; his arms came up to hug his stomach, like he was trying to shield himself from Porco’s words. But he remained standing, quiet, watching Porco like he was just waiting for him to get it all out, to say his peace.  
Porco’s throat clicked and his next breath was a quiver, a prelude to a sob. He wiped his nose with a hasty, haphazard brush of his wrist and just stood there, staring down at him. “W-well?!” Had he pushed him away now? Was he gonna tell him how awful he was now? That he didn’t wanna be friends anymore? When was Colt gonna break?  
His friend only looked at him, mouth downturned and eyes big and patient. Porco saw sadness there now, though.  
As the tears began to flow hot down his own cheeks, and as Colt became a blur in front of him, he lifted his hands and hid his face behind them – and he sobbed. The shame was all-consuming, but he just couldn’t stop; it was like all the anger and all the guilt – everything – was molding into one big hurt. And the tears just kept coming. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. It felt like a plea.  
_Please still be my friend._  
He hunched over, shoulders jerking with every inhale. Why was he always so bad? Why couldn’t he just be more like Marcel? Everybody liked Marcel. Marcel didn’t lose his patience with stupid people – and he didn’t yell at his friends, like Porco did.  
His sobs came out in loud, unforgiving bursts. The distant bustle that the breeze carried with it from the main strip behind him – and the faint swish of the waves down by the shore below them – all made him feel like his cries could echo through the streets for a thousand miles in comparison; his weakness was there for the whole world to witness. Yet, what humbled him the most, was his friend right in front of him – the boy who never hurt him back, who allowed his temper tantrums, who wanted to be his friend despite all his missteps. Every new side of Porco, must look more pathetic to Colt than the last. He must hate him now. Right?  
“…I’m sorry too.”  
Colt had spoken so quietly, Porco barely heard him at first. But when he felt a hand on his arm, he knew it hadn’t just been the wind. He whimpered and bit down on his lip to try stifling his sobs and listen.  
“…I’m sorry I asked about your bag. It’s not that dirty…” Colt’s voice was soft and careful. Porco admired his composure, as he listened over his own choking breath.  
The gravel crunched modestly and Porco finally lifted his head to look. Colt was stepping up to stand beside him on the cobblestone.  
_It’s not about the bag_ , he thought. He almost said it – but something in Colt’s eyes told him he knew that already.  
He gave a small whimper, and Colt moved in to wrap his arms around him – rain soaked clothes, dirty bags and smelly gym socks be damned.  
Colt was more of a hugger than Porco; sometimes he’d hug him just for making a cool move with his kite – or for showing up to walk with him – and most of the time, Porco would feel a little awkward about it, especially if others were around. Right now, though? Right now, there was probably nothing else in the whole world that could have made him feel better. Sure, Colt was all wet, but so was Porco – and the embrace was warm and safe all the same. It made Porco feel a little less exposed, and a whole lot less alone.  
So he closed his arms around Colt in return, and hid his face against his shoulder, taking in that familiar, yet strange mixed scent, of pear jam and cut grass.  
“I’m sorry, Colt,” he cried quietly into his shoulder. “Your kites aren’t stupid.”  
“It’s ok…”  
The embrace lasted until it felt natural to move. Porco couldn’t guess at a time; all he knew was that it had lasted long enough for most of the hurt to go away and for him to start taking notice of the sound of the breeze picking up. He lifted his head from Colt’s shoulder for a moment, to re-orient himself, and Colt took the hint and released him. Now his friend stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking at Porco then away and back again. He was rubbing his upper arms like they’d fallen asleep, and only smiled in response to Porco’s questioning look.  
“What?” Porco had to ask. His voice came out a little too harsh, and he hurried to compensate with a careful smile.  
“… Well. You sure you don’t wanna fly kites when we get back? Like I said, mommy says it’s gonna get windy.”  
Porco stared at him, then gave a winded chuckle, and shook his head down. At least he was thankful Colt was steering the topic away from his embarrassing meltdown.  
“Sure, why not.”

On their way home, the breeze started picking up considerably. By the time they heard the distant bells chime to signal six o’clock, and they were on their last home stretch down the main Marleyan strip, the wind was pulling harshly at their clothes with every gust. Colt had expressed some careful concerns that it could, in fact, get too windy for kite flying – but Porco had told him it was ok; they’d make it work. All the same, though: when they finally passed by Henrietta’s Parlor, three blocks from the internment zone, they were both hugging themselves for warmth. Porco looked longingly towards the home gate, but when he glanced sideways, he saw his friend’s head tilted up, eyes fixated on the swinging sign that hung over the parlor entrance. Then Porco watched his eyes move over to the window, where a neatly fashioned stand was displaying all the alluring flavors Marleyan children could choose from. Seeing Colt so eager yet restrained – knowing how much he’d truly appreciate the opportunity to try one of those ice creams – set off small sparks in Porco’s chest. He wished he could give Colt that ice cream, if nothing else but to apologize for earlier. He pursed his lips and considered it. Then stopped in his tracks. Colt did the same, but only to look at him confused. “Porco…?”  
“Come.” Porco slid towards a sheltered wall and peered through any surrounding windows. He grabbed his Eldian armband with one hand, then checked the street up and down thoroughly.  
Colt gasped. “No…! You can’t do that!” He quickly grabbed onto Porco’s arm. “What are you gonna do?!”  
Porco ignored his question, just kept watch as best he could while he made his move. “You, hold this.” He undid the pin that held the band in place, and swiftly slid it off his arm. He grabbed Colt’s wrist to free his own arm, then shoved the armband into his palm and closed his fist for him. “You wanted mint, right?”  
Colt’s face drained of color. “No, wait! I-it’s just for Marleyans!”  
“Nobody will tell the difference. Look. No armband.”  
“B-but what if they–“  
“Colt, did you want mint or not?!”  
“It’s too cold now!” He was starting to tear up.  
“No, it’s ok, it’s always warmer at home, you know that. Just wait here.” Porco reached up and stroked Colt’s cheek the way his mother did every time he got upset. It seemed to surprise Colt enough to stop his tears momentarily. Porco hadn’t intended for it to be such a breach of personal space, but as soon as it was done, and he saw Colt’s eyes widen, his cheeks flushed hot, and he pulled his hand back quickly. He shoved both hands in his pockets instead, and closed his fingers around the coins he kept there. “Just… wait here. Ok?” He turned, hanging his head in hopes of hiding the spreading blush, and jogged up to the parlor’s corner entrance. On the top step, he stopped and mustered the courage to look back: his friend stood frozen, pose and expression the same as when he’d left him. He lifted a finger to his lips – “shhh” – then went inside, heart pounding. 

Colt was still frozen in place by the wall where he’d left him, when Porco pushed the parlor door open with his shoulder a few minutes later. In his hands, he carried two ice cream cones – one with a green-ish blue-ish colored scoop on top, and one with a white scoop, sprinkled with brown. He called a confident “bye” over his shoulder and then let the door slide shut behind him. There, atop the stairs, his shoulders sank and he gave a loud exhale. The confidence he’d put on for the lady he assumed to be Henrietta, drained from his posture, and small pearls of sweat trickled down his temples. But he’d done it. He’d picked, paid and brought the Marleyan ice creams outside. He stood up straighter and smiled triumphantly over at his friend – lifting the cones to emphasize mission success.  
_What do you think of that, huh_?  
He huffed, and hopped down the steps – onto the cobblestone, where he stopped to survey the area. Still clear. Thanks to the wind, probably. People had enough to focus on just keeping their hat in place on their heads, he assumed.  
“Here!” He hurried sideways over to his friend, using his back to shield the ice creams from the wind. Within range, he extended an arm, holding out a cone for Colt to grab, and smiled. “Mint!”  
Colt was reluctant – but he took it, once he’d glanced over his shoulder. “… What did she say?”  
“Who…?” Porco scanned his face; this wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Didn’t Colt want ice cream anymore? “Henrietta? Uh, she said… ‘that’ll be eleven, young man’ or something like that?” He gave a halfhearted snort, but frowned when Colt’s forehead still didn’t release that tight little crease he saw between his eyebrows.  
“… That is the flavor you wanted, right?”  
“Yeah,” Colt mumbled and held out the armband for him to put on. Porco finally noticed his eyes were still red. He’d been crying while he was gone? He felt a pang of guilt.  
“Hold this,” Porco muttered, handing him the second cone. He pinned his armband to his shirt again, and sighed. “Colt, I’m sorry. It wasn’t dangerous, ok? And I wanted you to have that ice cream… Are you mad at me?”  
Colt shook his head and looked at his shoes. “… Thank you,” he sniffed.  
“It’s ok. Just taste it. It’s probably delicious. All your troubles will go away.” Porco was channeling his mother again: he stroked Colt’s back carefully, and almost reached up to wipe a tear from his cheek – but remembering the earlier reaction, he restrained himself.  
Colt nodded and handed him the second cone back, yet only continued to stare at the green-ish blue-ish ice cream still in his hand.  
“… You don’t want it?” Porco could feel his heart sink further. Damn it, why wouldn’t he talk? “Don’t be scared.”  
Colt shifted on his feet. “… What flavor did you get,” he mumbled.  
“Huh? Oh, this?” Porco held it out to show. “Vanilla and chocolate chip. It looked too delicious to pass up.” He watched Colt’s downturned face and waited. What was the matter? The ice cream was right there! It wasn’t guarded behind a window inside a prohibited shop anymore.  
“Colt,” he sighed, then reached out and took his hand carefully. “We can taste at the same time. Ok? And if anybody says we’re not allowed, I’ll punch them in their stupid faces.”  
That seemed to spark something, as he saw a careful, tiny smile start to form on his friend’s lips.  
“Heh. Alright? So don’t be scared.” He turned them around and began leading him homeward. He laced their fingers together as they walked, and began swinging their arms between them, hoping to lighten the mood further. Colt lifted his head at that, and looked at him. Seeing his friend finally respond to him, made Porco feel warm despite the wind; the crease between Colt’s eyebrows was gone, and that little smile he’d given was still lingering.  
“We taste on three?”  
Colt nodded.  
“One… two… three!” 

The guard dog was barking at them as they entered the internment zone not five minutes later. Despite the sugary glee that was glossing their faces from tasting Marleyan ice cream for the first time, Colt was instantly disrupted by the sound, and shied away from the beast like he always did. He held his cone in front of his face for protection, and closed his mouth shut in concentrated worry. Porco held his hand tighter – even giving it a little squeeze – and barked right back at the flee-riddled thing. The dog growled in response, but lost interest as they got further out of reach.  
“Don’t worry,” Porco told his friend firmly. “Like I’ve told you, I’ll kick his stupid butt if he ever tries to bite you. You’re safe with me. But he’s chained up anyways, so hah!”  
Porco saw Colt’s expression soften at that; his ice cream spotted cheeks turned light pink. “Thank you, Porco,” he said quite importantly, and went in for a hug, pressing their cheeks together softly. When they came apart, Porco felt his own face flush; he knew he’d be sticky with mint ice cream now, and made a mental note to wipe it away when Colt wasn’t looking.  
“I hope I’ll be as brave as you when I’m a big brother.”  
“Oh?” Porco raised his eyebrows surprised.  
“Yeah,” Colt smiled, pride blooming. “Mommy’s gonna have a baby!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what you think! <3 These two are my heart and soul.**


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